


Cataclysm

by mind_and_malady



Series: Maybe We're From the Same Star [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alastair is an Ass, Alternate Universe - Human, Background Appearance of the Best Girl Gang, Drunken Confessions, House Party, M/M, Mentions of Alastair/Lucifer, More detailed warning in the notes, Non-Consensual Touching, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 11:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: Nick is very, very drunk. He makes... poor life choices, while drunk.





	Cataclysm

**Author's Note:**

> Please jump to the end notes for spoilery content warnings re: non-consensual touching.
> 
> Here it is, at long last! The party fic that I promised a million years ago. Hope you enjoy!

The party is loud, people moving and dancing and laughing and drinking, and Nick is drunk. He is - he is so, so drunk, _so drunk._

“I’m drunk,” Nick slurs, leaning heavily into Sam’s side as his friend practically carries him across the living room floor. “I’m _reeaally_ drunk, Sam. Why ‘m I so drunk?”

“Because,” Sam says, not even pausing for breath when he literally picks Nick up bridal style to carry him down the stairs to the less populated basement, “You make bad life choices, Nick. The worst life choices.”

Nick thinks he must be making pretty good life choices if they’re getting him into a position where Sam is carrying him places. Sam is _strong._ And tall. God, he’s tall. And so damn pretty.

Sam is laughing, and his ears are turning a little pink. “Nick, stop.”

“What?” Nick whines, twisting in Sam’s grip until it tightens enough that he can’t move at all, which is just unacceptably hot. “I didn’t say nothin’.”

“Oh my god.” Sam sounds distantly horrified, setting him down on the edge of a table. “Did someone drug you?”

Nick thinks about it, kicking his legs a little. “Not really sure where my cup was for a minute, so - maaaybe?”

Now there’s real concern in his eyes. “Nick. Nick, did somebody else find you before I came and got you?” Sam looks actually frightened, and Nick can’t have that, he can’t let Sam be worried like this.

He reaches out and puts a hand on Sam’s cheek, cards his fingers through Sam’s soft, pretty hair. “Don’t think so,” he says, truthfully. “Just kinda wandered out there after Meg stopped doing body shots on the kitchen island.”

Sam reaches out, and very lightly touches the side of Nick’s neck. His breath catches, and he could swear he feels his pupils dilate, and Sam must notice, right? He’s gotta notice, being this close, he can’t _not._

“Alright,” Sam says firmly. “We’re getting out of here. Did you bring anything else with you?”

Nick thinks about it. “A coat? Oh, and um, shoes.”

Sam glances down because of course Nick isn’t wearing shoes. Why would he be wearing shoes? Nick watches one large hand drag over his face. “Okay. Stay here, Nick, I mean it.”

“But -”

“ _Stay,_ ” Sam growls, hands firm on Nick’s shoulders, grip almost bruising. “Do you understand me?”

Oh dear God in Heaven. Nick whines a little, but he nods, trying to withhold what is most definitely a moan from escaping. Sam walks off - runs, really, he’s gone so fast he’s a blur - and leaves Nick trying to determine whether or not the source of his unbridled lust is just Sam, or an as of yet undiscovered kink. The answer is probably both, he’s found most of his kinks unintentionally through Sam. Because of course he did. He’s pathetic like that.

Someone touches his leg, and when he turns his head, he can’t help but physically recoil, face twisting at the sight of Alastair, leering at him from an unacceptably close distance. “Not happy to see me, Nicky?” he fucking laughs, and Nick makes an angry noise, shoves him away.

“Get off’a me,” he demands, but his voice is slurring and the pleasantly drunk high he was riding is crashing just being around this asshole.

“Aw, but I thought we could have some _fun_ , you’re always fun when you’re wasted -”

His hands are crawling up Nick’s arms, and when he tries to pull away his nails dig in so hard that Nick has to cry out. Alastair laughs again, starts to lean in, and Nick kicks him as hard as he can in the shin.

“You fucking piece of _shit -”_

“Hey!”

Nick slumps in relief. It’s Sam. “Sam,” he sighs, and Sam is next to him in an instant, shoes and coat in hand. Nick can’t see Alastair’s face with Sam looming between them, but he can still hear the angry sputtering noises.

“Winchester!” Alastair snaps. “Get the hell out of here, don’t interrupt your friend’s fun time.”

Sam steps forward once, twice, now looming directly over Alastair, more than a full head taller than him. “Nick is going home, and you’re not going to bother him again. Ever.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, and Nick tries once again not to let out a mournful sigh. It _is_ a new kink. He’s going to die.

Alastair has always had less sense than feeling, even more so when drunk. He throws a punch that hits Sam in the chest, pushes him back half a step. But Sam surges forward, punches Alastair hard in the cheek, grabs him by his shirt, and slams him into the wall, feet dangling off the floor.

“I said,” Sam growls, “Leave. Nick. Alone. Is that computing for you?”

Slowly, Alastair nods, and Sam drops him, ignores him entirely in favor of Nick. “Are you okay?” his tone his gentle, hands barely brushing over him, glancing against his cheek, his neck, all worry and concern and god, Nick could melt.

“Barely touched me,” Nick says. “Can we go?”

Sam helps him with his shoes while Nick shrugs on his coat, and then Sam picks him up again, carries him out of the house and to his car. He’s nice enough to help Nick into the car before getting in himself, makes sure he’s buckled and everything. By the time Nick remembers they came with more people than they're leaving with, they're three blocks over, waiting at a stoplight.

“What about the um-” Nick waves a hand in the direction of the backseat. “The girls, should we -”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, “No, I talked to them, they’re staying at Lilith’s place, it’s just up the street.”

“Oh,” Nick blinks, and settles back in his seat. “Good.”

The car is quiet as Sam drives. Streetlights pass over his face in a yellow haze, highlighting his mouth, the curve of his jaw, his cheekbones, turns his hair dark chocolate highlighted with gold, eyes black-brown in the night. God, but he’s pretty.

“Nick,” Sam laughs. “Stop, I’m not.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop calling me pretty,” Sam's tone is light, teasing.

“But I - I didn’t?”

Sam laughs again, louder this time. “You’re talking out loud, Nick.”

Nick harrumphs, pouting. “You’re still pretty. You’ve always been pretty.”

Sam stops laughing. “Since when?” he audibly rolls his eyes. “When have I ever been pretty to you?”

He takes a second to think about it, but he doesn’t need to really. The memory is burned into his mind. “When we went camping when we were like, twelve. We went swimming and you’d gotten tall ‘n started filling out and I had like, a baby gay awakening just lookin’ at you all wet from the river and strong and tanned and -” he has to stop or he’s never going to. Nick takes a breath. “Point is, I’ve always thought you’re pretty, Sammy.”

“Nick -” Sam’s tone is ever so slightly strangled. “Did you have a crush on me?” he says it with the faintest hint of a laugh, but it’s more hysterical than amused.

No point in lying, really. “Yeah,” he admits. “But after a few years I don’t think it counts as a crush anymore. What’s it called after that?” Nick frowns in Sam’s direction, not really looking at him. “Love, I think. Yeah. Been in love with you for years.”

The car stops a little abruptly. Sam looks panicked, hands tight on the wheel, just staring at Nick. He wonders what he said. “What?”

“You -” Sam takes a slow breath. “You’re drunk. Very drunk. Let’s get you inside, okay?”

“Okay,” Nick agrees, manages to get out of the car by himself. He only wobbles a little on the walk to the front door, at which point Sam takes his keys from him and unlocks the door. The house is dark and quiet, like usual after nine o’clock. Father doesn’t sleep this early, but Nick supposes that he just sits in his room and writes or drinks or something.

Sam makes him eat bread and drink water, then herds him upstairs, manages to get him to change into pajamas and lay down in his bed. “But ‘m not tired,” Nick whines, fingers twined in Sam’s shirt.

“If you can lay there with your eyes closed for half an hour and not fall asleep, I’ll believe you,” Sam says easily, and Nick is so determined to prove him wrong that he closes his eyes.

* * *

 

Consciousness, Nick decides, is literally Hell. The blinds are mercifully shut, but his mouth tastes like acid and his entire body feels like it was thrown through a brick wall, headfirst. What was he drinking last night, goddamn. He tries to remember and wishes quickly that he hadn’t. It washes back in perfect clarity, all the hard liquor and Alastair and Sam taking him home...

Oh, fuck, the car ride home, he said so much, too much, oh god Sam’s going to hate him -

The door clicks so quietly that Nick barely notices it, until he hears soft footsteps over his bedroom floor. “Hey,” Sam says, very quietly, so beautifully quiet. “How’re you feeling?”

“Hungover and full of regret,” he admits, voice hoarse.

Sam laugh is gentle and beautiful, but he looks at Nick a little shyly, hesitant. “Do you remember much?”

He could lie. He could say no, and Sam would hold nothing said on that car ride against him, would dismiss it for the sake of their friendship if nothing else. But he doubts that he’ll ever get the chance again, knows himself too well to think he could confess while sober.

“Yeah,” Nick mumbles, and glances away. His face burns hot, and he sits up, crosses his arms in the bracing for inevitable rejection. “I remember all of it.”

“Oh.” Fuck, Sam sounds _disappointed_. “I - guess we have to talk about it then.” He sounds partially terrified, entirely unsure and unwilling.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Nick counters. He can’t look at Sam, can’t look at anything but the sheets pooled in his lap.

Sam hesitates, then sighs. He stands up. “Okay,” he says. “I - I do wanna talk about it, but I just… I need some space, Nick.”

“Yeah, yeah, course,” Nick tries not to babble, tries not to let the terror he feels show. “Take your time.”

Sam touches his shoulder, and he shrinks away. He can feel Sam freeze, can hear his breath catch. “Okay,” he says, and Nick feels like an ass because he sounds a breath away from crying. He didn’t want this to happen, not like this. God, this couldn’t have gone worse.

“I -” He stops, sucks in a breath and looks up at Sam. He looks exhausted and mussed and hurt, and it’s _his fault_. “I just - I meant it. I mean, yeah, I was drunk and I wouldn’t have told you otherwise but - it’s still true.”

Sam just nods rapidly, takes a couple half steps backwards toward the door. “I have to go home,” he says, swallowing. “I - guess I’ll see you later.”

Nick just nods, fights the pain in his chest. “Okay. Bye, Sam.”

“Bye, Nick.”

He’s gone in an instant, door closing quietly behind him, and Nick immediately turns to bury his face in his pillow and scream. There are tears soaking the pillow case and he _doesn’t care_ because that goodbye tasted like the final one. If that’s the last time he sees Sam - really sees him, not at school and with the full recognition of his person - he’s going to regret for the rest of his life.

Nick can’t stop crying, talks aloud to himself to try and calm down, to make a plan. He’s shaking, but he decides that the best course of action is to do what Sam said. Give him space. If Sam is ready to talk to him, then he’ll come talk to him, or make contact, or something. And if he doesn’t…

Then he doesn’t. And Nick can go through the process of mourning the loss of a love that never properly got to exist.

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: Alastair is alluded to being Nick's ex, and attempts to take advantage of him while Nick is drunk. He grabs Nick by the arm and touches his leg, but Nick defends himself, and then Sam arrives and gets Nick out of there.


End file.
